


Beyond Our Graves

by Candid_Reverie



Category: American Horror Story
Genre: Aha, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Relationships, Canonical Character Death, Crying, Edward is a mess, Evan Peters - Freeform, Gay, Guinness is nice, Guinness is nice ig, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, I DONT MAKE THE RULES, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Newt - Freeform, One Shot, Regret, Regret?, Uhhh nut, Ur gay if you read this, but also not???, im sorry, please stop me, sorry - Freeform, this is gay, yea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 07:51:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14996234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candid_Reverie/pseuds/Candid_Reverie
Summary: Edward has trouble sleeping. . . Guinness has trouble ignoring it.





	Beyond Our Graves

Edward's permanently cold feet shuffled awkwardly on the wooden floor of the mansion. Its boards creaked and groaned under his bare feet and he furrowed his eyebrows in distaste. It seemed like the passing centuries wore the wood, along with the numerous people that have come, and gone— in a myriad of tragic, bloody ways. To focus on the reason as to why the man had gotten out of bed in the middle of the night, in the first place, there was but a simple answer:

He couldn't sleep.

Well— sleeping was an overstatement. People. . . _things_ like him couldn't sleep anymore. Passing the point of being deprived, they all entered a state of numbness, or what they defined as slumber.

He roamed the halls, except it wasn't roaming. He knew where he wanted to go. His pride wouldn't allow him to go, though. Whenever he sought for a place to alleviate the everlasting tension, or placate his restlessness into something more manageable, he'd want to seek out Guinness. This was a regular occurence when he was alive. Anyone who'd ever exchanged two words with him would have thought he'd turn to the paintings. But as much as he loved them and their infinite beauty that mankind could never capture in a moving reality, they never gave him any solace. It was tragic.

So to find peace, he'd go to the one person who had understood him more than any other had. However, ever since his lover— ex-lover? —had escaped prison and returned to the mansion, things had been tense between the two. Edward remembered it like it was only days ago. He was killed within several feet of the door by the same mob who'd pierced his chest. He knew because he watched it happen, as the dark skinned man reached out to him from outside, underneath the window.

Part of him, the part that held profound feelings for him, made him believe as though he should have aided him, and saved his mutilated body so that he wouldn't have to spend eternity in this personal inferno. On the other hand, some other part of him resented him for running off, resented him for condescending him on his decision to lock the servants in the cellar, then storming off during one of his most vulnerable moments. Of course, his pride swallowed the former and reacted in accordance with the latter. He'd stared at Guinness' lifeless body, and mulled over what he'd done. He realized that now he and Guinness would spend eternity together. It didn't displease him, in the aspect of being with his lover. It did, however, make him acknowledge that the man would resent the other for leaving him to die, thus making it harder for him to enjoy being in his company.

He'd remembered that Guinness had barely made himself visible the first few decades. Over time, he appeared more frequently around the mansion, even outside, at times. He'd look down the barren cellar before vanishing and reappearing in any room of his choosing. Edward had thought of it to be unreasonable not to even spare him a glance for so long. The man ran off when he was helpless, so he'd considered it as payback. It took him nearly a year to consider that that might not be the only reason that he could barely stand to look at him. And it took him longer to understand how it most likely made the other feel.

Edward recalled crudely telling him that he loved the paintings more than he loved him. He recalled shouting at him for judging him when he locked the servants in the cellar; telling him that the fact that they were lovers didn't change that Guinness was still merely a servant he could get rid of easily. He remembered telling him to not come across him for the rest of the night, or blood would spill. He hadn't known that none of the servants were responsible for tarnishing his art. He could've perhaps avoided the bad blood between him and his lover.

It's been two hundred years, and Guinness hadn't spoken a word to him since. It was like his father had once said to him, the same week his second wife had left him: _"Love will last until death do them part, hatred shall carry out beyond the grave."_

But now here he was, wanting to make the first move to reunite them and light the spark they had so many years ago. He couldn't say that he wasn't being the epitome of pathetic. No, really, he was. He wouldn't have done it if he hadn't sensed Guinness in the room next to his. That was the first time in years that he decided to sleep in his own room. His presence held the dullness every spirit here— of whom he had the displeasure of sharing the mansion with —would get when they were, for lack of a better term, asleep. So, making up his mind, Edward held his breath as he made his way down the dark corridor, up until he was in front of the male's room.

It wasn't closed; it was left ajar, as if he were waiting for someone, him, to come in. Edward fancied that idea more than the simple fact that some doors couldn't close anymore. He stepped in and observed the man, an ache flowering in his chest as he watched how he shifted in his slumber. As soon as the blond haired man made his way to the edge of the bed, the other's eyes shot open in alarm. He sat up, back pressed against the headboard, and eyes blearily glaring at him. There was a moment of silence before Edward decided to speak, voice faint.

"I couldn't sleep." He decided on the simple statement of fact. After a hesitant moment, Guinness' voice replied.

"What makes you think that I would want to do something about that?" His voice was hoarse, and something rich he hadn't heard in decades, despite it being filled with something akin to hatred. It made his breath hitch, and he didn't known why. He fought the urge to walk off.

"I recognized my faults long ago."

"You left me to die." His voice held the bitterness he had yet to still express.

"And _you_ had as well," Edward bit back.

"You blatantly admitted that you loved the paintings more than you loved me." The way his voice died out at the last few words, Edward could never miss.

"And I meant that," he confessed, "at the time. The art made me feel as though I was in a world of my own, where I wouldn't have had to move to solitude. A place in which I wouldn't have been judged for my choice of companion. Where it would have been a still perfection, and no one other than I could dictate what was right or wrong." Edward himself didn't know where all of this was coming from, but he felt as though every word brought him closer to realizing what he had and hadn't done.

"I've come to realize that this is as close to the paintings that I could've ever gotten. And the life of still, eternal perfection I fancied was a tragic lie, with nothing but heartache and monotony. At some point, I'd have wished to grow old with you, just see what life had in store for the two of us." He felt his breath getting heavier, and his throat tightening. He meant it, he meant what he was saying and he was about to pay the price for opening up. He blinked rapidly to keep the tears at bay. He hadn't broken eye contact with him all throughout his confession. He could see how much he'd become sober from his sleep. Guinness, who hadn't once interrupted him throughout his monolog, finally spoke.

"Then why did you say I was only a mere servant to you?" He had the questions Edward expected, but hadn't had the answers for until this very moment.

"I was heartbroken, that my lover began judging me like the rest of the world. I felt alone. I admit what I did was wrong, as I learned that it really was the woman to destroy what I thought was so precious. And I felt as though it was only I against that wretched world once again." He felt tears slide down his cheek. Foreign for years, they cascaded and reached his chin before dropping onto his bare feet. For the first time since he entered the room, he broke eye contact to wipe at his eyes, trying to dry unrelenting tears.

He heard the shuffling of sheets, and the creaking of the bed. Soft steps were heard approaching him, but he didn't dare look up from his hands. Warm, calloused hands wrapped around his wrists gently, and he became aware of how much he missed touch. His touch specifically. They pulled his hands away from his face, and obediently, he let his arms drop to his sides. One hand reached under his chin, tilting it up. Edward stared up into Guinness' darkened eyes, glancing down briefly at his lips before returning to look at him. Just like that, he let his eyelids flutter shut as he saw the man's lips closing the distance that had felt like an infinite chasm between the two.

When their lips met, he felt as if he were experiencing their first kiss all over again. Soon, his hands found their right place on the other's broad chest, fingers trembling as they wrapped themselves in the fabric of his shirt. Guinness' other hand held the back of his neck, thumb caressing his jaw. Their lips moved in sync, more expertly than their first, but with just as much wonder and tenderness. He missed this.

Their kiss lasted approximately thirty seconds, but it seemed to Edward as if it had lasted only three. When they parted, the need for air was not as strong as the need to feel closer. They pressed against each other, not in a hungry way, but in a way to fill the place that was left void for all those years. Guinness gave Edward one more chaste kiss before parting, walking to his side of the bed and pulling the sheets over his body. He looked at the other expectantly. Edward stared at him, not knowing what to do. Guinness smiled gently.

"Come to bed, love." He whispered, and Edward didn't hesitate to oblige. He quickly slipped in the bed, his body against Guinness' strong one. He felt the other wrap his protective arms around him and he let himself drape his own over his lover's body, legs entwining. He felt safe, and a little more peaceful for the the first time in a while. As his muscles relaxed and his vision darkened pleasantly, he thought back to his father's words. His father was wrong.

Love can carry out beyond the grave.

**Author's Note:**

> I think I tried lmao thanks for reading this


End file.
